It's all coming back to me now
by johnlocketed
Summary: BBC Sherlock - Johnlock AdultFic (last few chapters, SMUT), AU, Consensual, First Time, Fluff, m/m, hints of strong violence, possible tearjerker, adult language is introduced in the later chapters. Loosely based on the Celine Dion song 'It's All Coming Back To Me Now' Sherlock returns after two years to find that John has forgotten who he is, despite this their paths still cross
1. Chapter 1 - When you touch me like this

(BBC) Sherlock – Disclaimer, I do not own the rights to the characters, the song the fic is loosely based on (Celiene Dion's 'It's All Coming Back To Me Now), the setting or the story, This all just a bit of fun, hope you enjoy.

This was written before I saw 'The Empty Hearse' so sorry about any inaccuracies. I am also sorry for any spelling/grammar errors. I did my best but I am only human. Please enjoy and feel free to leave any comments, it would be lovely to hear from you.

_Sherlock_

John

Sherlock returns to London to reunite with John, two years after the fall. Sherlock however, is in for a shock when Dr Watson does not remember who he is, leaving Sherlock feeling very confused.

_Sherlock could feel his heart pounding in his chest, it blood was being forced up his throat, he could almost taste it. His heartbeat was irregular and fast and his hands were shaking with the adrenaline rush. He could not remember being this scared since he saw the bomb strapped to John's chest. The fear was not as bad as that, but in some ways, it was so much worse. It was a different type of fear. Making note that he would have to try to categorise the different types of fear and there severity in an attempt to calm himself down. Sherlock had played this scenario out in his head several times, occasionally letting his mind wander to dark fantasies and other times thinking about the more logical outcomes. How much his face would hurt after John punched him for example; however, he had never accounted for the fear that he would be feeling. He wanted desperately to be reserved in front of John; he wanted to appear to be his normal self, as if nothing had changed. Maybe then, he could convince himself that nothing had changed, that it was still the two of them against the world. Taking a deep breath while pushing aside a stray curl that hung loosely across his forehead, he pulled the door open; with more force than he intended. Concluding the extra physical exertion was due to the adrenaline that was pulsing through his veins, he began to hesitate again, and he had been waiting for one moment for two years. The uncertainty was what terrified him the most, there were too many possible outcomes swimming around in his brain and Sherlock was not used to that, Sherlock was nearly always certain about something; or at the very least there was always one outcome that was more likely than all the rest. He could use a process of elimination, trial and error process that he could rely on. There was no clear outcome, no more predictions to make, Sherlock was in the dark with nothing left to deduce. He was so out of his comfort zone that if it were not for John, he wouldn't be doing this. As it was, he was fighting off every urge to leave. What if John was still mad, what if John could not forgive him, what if John had moved on? Just as he was about to leave, deciding he needed to think it through more, but then he saw John. _

John was getting impatient; his hand was cradling a whisky glass that was nearly empty. The bar tender went to ask if he would like another, but John just shook his head. He had already had two, and did not want to be drunk over dinner, not when this dinner was so important. He readjusted his tie, it felt like it was getting tighter with every breath he took. "Stop it John" he thought, "you are being irrational." Beads of sweat started to roll down his neck and he began to hope to God that Mary arrived soon; otherwise he feared he would buckle under the pressure of it all. He might never be able to regain the courage to ask the question he was so desperate to ask. He was still not sure why it had taken him this long to get round to asking in the first place, it was as if a small part of him did not want to ask the question, but he assumed that was just nerves. Anybody would get nervous at a moment like this. Not wanting to dwell on it too much, he downed the last of his whisky in one clean gulp and reached for the cane leaning by the bar. He began to ready himself, pausing to run his hand over his moustache to wipe away any moisture that the whisky had left behind. He was just about to turn around and walk towards the table he had reserved, when a hand was placed on his shoulder, halting him.

_John turned his head slowly to meet Sherlock's gaze but Sherlock looked away quickly, he did not want to see the pain in Johns eyes, not just yet. Instead Sherlock braced himself for what was about to happen, the screaming, crying, possibly a punch, but all the scenarios now racing around his head, nothing could have prepared him for what came next. Not being able to stifle his curiosity any longer he looked into John's eyes to be greeted with a confused yet kind look. "John" his voice was barely a whisper, feeling his heart expand to a painful size in his chest he lowered his hand slowly away from John's shoulder, still waiting for the anger or hurt to pour from John's direction. "Sorry, can I help you?" John's voice was so calm and collected that every word uttered from his mouth felt like a punch to each remain of Sherlock's heart; that had burst inside his chest. Taking a quick gulp for air, Sherlock hardened his facial features. "I'm sorry, I thought you were someone I knew" his voice trailed off as he turned away quickly. He could not understand it. Sherlock could have never predicted this outcome. He could not understand what was happening. He felt ashamed of himself for expecting so much, how dare he feel like he was entitled to any emotion from John after what he did. He was a terrible human being, his eyes drifted down wards to his wrists, a place they had fallen regularly since the fall. On the way down, they fell on the pocket of John's suit jacket, where he noticed a small red box. His throat seized up, turning away, he stormed out of the bar, fighting back the tears and leaving John with a bemused look on his face._

_Sherlock started walking down the darkened street; pulling the collar of his coat up to protect himself from the prevailing wind. A black car pulled up alongside the detective, and could hear the window opening. "You can tell Mycroft I'm not interested" Sherlock did not like the company of his brother at the best of times, but he certainly was not in the mood right now. However, he did stop walking when he heard the familiar soft chuckle of his older brother come from the car; before the car stopped completely, and the car door swung open. "You can either get in, or I follow you until you do." The fact that his brother was the one in the car and not his PA suggested Mycroft was not going to give up; and as stubborn as Sherlock was he did not have the energy or will power left to argue. His brief meeting with John had drained him of everything he had. Sherlock climbed in the car like a reluctant child, just having enough time to shut the door before the car drove off at full speed. He positioned himself as close to the door as possible, doing his best to not look directly at Mycroft in an attempt to mask his red nose and blood shot eyes. _

_The car drove quickly down the winding London back roads, and the brothers travelled in silence. Mycroft occasionally throwing glances in his brother's direction was the only communication that took place between the two of them for the whole journey. Sherlock went to his mind palace, desperately trying to delete John's confused look, but ended up repeating it for the whole car journey. It was the car slowing down that finally brought Sherlock back to earth; he wanted to jump out of the car before a member of Mycroft's staff could open the door for him. Sherlock walked away from the car, keeping his back to it at all times. The warehouse was dimly lit and completely deserted. Sherlock suspected it was the same place Mycroft took John all those years ago, when he wanted to enlist Johns services. He smiled for a brief moment at the thought of Johns slightly bemused face at being dragged to the middle of nowhere, but then the pain in his heart resumed. He could feel the lump reforming at the back of his throat. "What is it Mycroft?" Sherlock spat the words out at his brother. "It's about John" Sherlock turned to face his brother at the sound of John's name, without stopping to think about it. "What about him?" He tried to hide the pain in his voice but he suspected he failed miserably. _

John was distracted for the rest of the night. He never got round to asking Mary, his mind was too preoccupied throughout the meal. Mary tried to coax his distraction out of him, but he was being honest when he told her that he did not know what was bothering him. His mind was fleeting between many different things; the only image that remained constant was the look of disappointment in that man's face. The man that looked so familiar, but every time he searched for why it felt like his head was being hit on a brick wall. The doctor found himself stroking his shoulder throughout the night. There was still a warm tingle lingering on his skin, like the strangers hand was still resting there. Something about it felt familiar and welcoming, not only the touch but his face, it was like he had been staring at those eyes for years and yet he had not been staring long enough. John started to yawn, he blamed it on a long day at the clinic, he wouldn't admit, couldn't admit that this was putting his mind under a lot of strain trying to understand why that man made the pit of him feel so light, like a great weight he didn't even know he was carrying had been lifted. Mary was understanding when he asked if they could finish early and he could not have been more grateful. Just one of the reasons he loved that woman. He hadn't been this tiered in a long time, the sort of tiered where he fell asleep the moment his head touched the pillow; and with his last thought being an image of the curly haired man at the bar, he fell into what he hoped would be a dreamless sleep.


	2. Chapter 2 - Nights, the wind was cold

(BBC) Sherlock – Disclaimer, I do not own the rights to the characters, the song the fic is loosely based on (Celiene Dion's 'It's All Coming Back To Me Now), the setting or the story, This all just a bit of fun, hope you enjoy.

This was written before I saw 'The Empty Hearse' so sorry about any inaccuracies. I am also sorry for any spelling/grammar errors. I did my best but I am only human. Please enjoy and feel free to leave any comments, it would be lovely to hear from you.

_Sherlock_

John

Video Clip

Sherlock learns the truth about why John has forgotten him, while John struggles to rid his mind of the curly haired stranger.

_Sherlock was still waiting for Mycroft's reply, he knew that the silence was intentional on Mycroft's part. He suspected he wanted him to beg for the information to see him say please but Sherlock refused to play ball. He had already revealed too much emotion, too much weakness for one night; and it was not something he intended on doing again, no matter how badly he wanted the information. Instead, he kept his facial expression mutual, and stared him out, hoping that Mycroft would eventually give in, which he did. "After you jumped John came to see me" Sherlock could detect that Mycroft had softened his voice, did Mycroft pity him, the idea alone made his stomach churn. In any normal circumstance, he would have voiced his disgust at being pitied by his older brother, but he wanted the information about John so badly that he tried to be on his best behaviour. Keeping his voice cold and critical Sherlock managed a reply "and?" but Mycroft didn't say anything. The only noise was the sound of a pair of heels hitting the hard concrete, and as Sherlock suspected Mycroft's PA appeared in a new pair of shoes, carrying a laptop in her left hand. As it was the second clack that was slightly louder than the first. Suggesting there was more weight present on the left side of the body, as Mycroft's PA usually walked with her right foot forward. However, that was as much as Sherlock could deduce, and he still felt completely out of control. A mixture of seeing John for the first time in three years and then having his heart broken by John only seconds later left him feeling to numb to try and guess anything else. He just wanted to curl up in a ball and cry, something he had not had urge to do since he was a child. It made him hate John for making him feel this way. He hated John almost as much as he loved him at this point. _

_ Mycroft nodded his head in a way of thanks towards his PA, who was already back to typing on her blackberry. He opened the laptop up, loaded it up and handed it to Sherlock. The screen was fixed on a crumpled John sitting in a plastic chair. Sherlock managed to pull his eyes away from the screen; and started to edge back to the car, and close the door. He did not want anyone to observe him watching this and he suspected he would not be able to stand much longer. Sherlock waited for Mycroft to leave before even attempting to build up the courage to press enter on the laptop, causing the static image of dishevelled unshaven John, with his head in his hands, to move._

John's chest was rising and falling at a very unsteady pace, he was so unsteady he could barely hold his head up to look at the camera. "Are you sure you don't want another drink Dr Watson?" Mycroft's voice drifted in from off camera, the tone was warmer than normal. John's only way of response was a small headshake, before resting his head back into his hands. Though for the brief moment John's eyes were looking at the lens, it was clear that the life was missing from behind them. They were hazed and blood shot, with bags underneath them that suggested he had not slept properly for weeks. "Well then, when you are ready." Nothing happened for a moment, John sat there steadying himself. "How much do I need to say on camera, for you to agree to do this?" He spoke into his hands, deciding to not raise his head again. "Just the facts of what you actually want to happen is fine, though if you want to give more detail for cathartic purposes, that is fine. I understand emotions are a problem for some." John exhaled loudly, shaking his head softly, it sounded like he was laughing for a moment. "In some ways you are both so similar." He stopped when he noticed his own mistake, before sitting himself up straight, it looked like it took a lot of energy to even do that, and he had not even started speaking yet.

"First you clear his name, I want the world to know that S... "John choked, he was trying to regain composure, but it was too late, he had tears rolling down his cheeks, and now the flood gates were open they would not close, so he carried on speaking through the tears, "that amazing man, was amazing. He was not a fake; I do not believe a word of it. Moriaty just made him say that, because, because that man truly was a genius." He paused for a moment, his shoulders now shaking, as his head sunk back into his hands. It took him a few more seconds before he spoke again, "this hypnotist, she can remove every memory I have of S... of your brother?" He raised his eye line to look at Mycroft off camera, "If that is what you want?" "It's what I need. I cannot carry on like this. I will never move on from him, no one will ever live up to his memory." His voice tailed off at the end of the sentence, "do you want to know anything about the process, Dr Watson?" It was Mycrofts best attempt to comfort John, it did not really work, but John seemed to appreciate it, "Thanks Mycroft, but it's ok. I don't want to know how it happens." Mycroft moved in front of the lens, blocking John from view, "Thank you Mycroft." Then just before the camera was turned off, at a volume that meant it was unlikely that John heard it, "You're welcome John."

_Sherlock found himself sitting staring at the blank screen, tears now rolling down his cheeks. He was unsure at what part of the video caused Sherlock to finally give in and cry, but he was now crying uncontrollably. He was so lost in his emotion that he did not hear Mycroft open the car door. "Are you ok brother?" Sherlock pushed past Mycroft and climbed out of the car, he was beginning to feel slightly claustrophobic sitting there."I'd be careful Mycroft, you almost sound concerned." "I'm always concerned brother." There was silence in the warehouse for a moment before Sherlock broke the silence saying something he would probably regret at some point, "Thank you. Thank you for taking care of John when I couldn't", and with that, Sherlock turned on his heels and headed for the door of the warehouse. Just before he was gone, Mycroft spoke at a volume that anyone, but Sherlock wouldn't have heard, "it was the least I could do" and that is what caused Sherlock to cry for the third time in his adult life, as he rushed out onto the street. _

John had been tossing and turning all night, there were beads of sweat covering every spare part of skin. He could not remember having a nightmare like this since he stopped his therapy sessions. Apparently, he had also been screaming, because Mary shaking him is what woke him up. "John, honey, are you ok?" John turned over on his side, to turn on the lamp, the instant bright light hurting his eyes; "I'm fine, why?" Mary propped herself up against her pillows, her hand now resting on John's forehead; "because you are covered in sweat and you kept screaming 'let me through, his my friend'. Were you having another nightmare about Afghanistan? Because if so we need to contact your therapist and let her know it's getting bad again." Mary was already turned from him, leaning for her mobile that was charging on the nightstand, but John stopped her. Propping himself up on his elbows he kissed the back of her neck, before whispering in her ear, "It wasn't about Afghanistan. Don't worry about it, I don't even remember the dream. " He pulled her round to face him before pressing his lips against hers and pulling her close for an embrace, hoping that it would reassure her. "Now can we go back to sleep?" Mary nodded before turning out the light; she seemed to fall asleep instantly, her head resting on his bare chest. However, John was awake for the rest of the night kept up for the rest of the night; so he eventually gave up with even trying to get to sleep. Instead of staring at the ceiling through the early hours of the morning, John decided to slowly lift Mary's head off his chest and placing it softly on the pillow just before getting out of bed.

The floor was cold beneath Johns bare feet, but he did not care he was too busy feeling guilty about lying to Mary; because the truth is he remembered every moment of the dream. It was not as clear as the nightmares he used to have. It was fragmented and blurry, if anything it was as if a broken tape stuck on repeat, it was just the same images rolling through his mind. Everything appeared to be in slow motion, as the man from the bar fell from the roof of the building. Then he was just lying on the floor, the pavement soaked with his blood. He did not know why he was dreaming about that, he was sure he had never seen that man before, but then again there was that nagging feeling at the back of his mind that he seemed so familiar, so comforting. John's headache was beginning to resurface, and so with what felt like an extreme amount of effort he walked to the bathroom cabinet to get some painkillers; which he intended to wash down with several glasses of whisky.

_The rain was coming down hard and fast and the wind was cutting Sherlock like a knife. Leaning forward, and holding his coat with clenched fists. He walked at full speed, trying and failing to hold back another set of tears. He had become an emotional wreck in one night, and that scared him. He tried to deduce things about the people he was passing, but at one in the morning, there was not much for him to work with; and he lost interest quickly. What was the point in being clever if there was nobody there to impress, especially as the only person he wanted to impress no longer knew who he was. He thought jumping was going to be the hardest thing he ever did, but he was wrong, leaving John was no wear near as hard as living in a world where John did not know him; and with that thought, his heart broke all over again._


	3. Chapter 3 - Days, the sun was cruel

(BBC) Sherlock – Disclaimer, I do not own the rights to the characters, the song the fic is loosely based on (Celiene Dion's 'It's All Coming Back To Me Now), the setting or the story, This all just a bit of fun, hope you enjoy.

This was written before I saw 'The Empty Hearse' so sorry about any inaccuracies. I am also sorry for any spelling/grammar errors. I did my best but I am only human. Please enjoy and feel free to leave any comments, it would be lovely to hear from you.

_Sherlock_

John

John realises his ring is missing, and therefore enlists the help of a consulting detective.

In true British fashion by the next morning, the sun was high in the sky, causing it to be so hot, that if it was not for social conventions you could be sure everyone would be walking around naked. John was sweating underneath his collar, which was not helping his concentration. He had been in the surgery for nearly two hours and already fatigue was kicking in. He was so close to falling asleep for the third time that morning, he was sure that is his phone had not vibrated on the table, waking him with a jolt, he would have actually fallen asleep on the desk. Checking his phone, he realised that Mary was checking up on him. He smiled to himself, before answering that he was ok. Thinking that he was the luckiest man in the world, he decided that he was going to ask her to marry him tonight, no fuss just ask, before he backed down again; and with that thought in mind, he ran his hand into his jacket pocket. It was the same jacket he wore to dinner the night before, though something about it was different, neither pocket contained a little red box. John swore to himself and deciding to end his day early, claiming he was not feeling too great, which was not technically a lie; he left the surgery and got in a black cab.

He arrived at the restaurant within twenty minutes, and after quickly paying the driver he hurried into the restaurant to ask if anyone handed in a little red box. After the questioning all of the staff, the bar tender returned to John with the bad news; the box had not been handed in. John was beginning to get frustrated, the ring not being at the restaurant meant somebody had probably taken it; which meant he had just effectively lost two months' salary. He was all set to report it to the police when a thought occurred to him. Remembering a story a patient of his once told him, about the time, they had a necklace stolen. The necklace had no monetary worth but of great sentimental value, and therefore they explained how they hired a detective instead of going to the police. The detective did not only find them the necklace but also the thief within twenty-four hours. Trying to remember what the name of the detective but failing, he unlocked his phone and typed London detectives into Google. The first result he stumbled across was a blog, one that had not been updated in three years.

_Sherlock was lying, in silence with his eyes closed, on the sofa in 221B Baker Street. Mrs Hudson had insisted he moved back in the minute she found out he was alive and as Mycroft was paying the rent, he could see no logical reason to object. However, despite the fact that he was back in his old surroundings it still didn't feel like home to him, there was a massive gap in each room where John should be, but Sherlock refused to get all sentimental about that again. Last night he vowed to himself that it was not going to be the last time he cried over John Watson, or any one for that matter. His eyes had dried up forever. He was never going to see John again so it was illogical to get upset over something he could not change. Instead he was going to throw himself head first into his work like he always did. All he needed now was a case, and if luck would have it, with that very thought the doorbell rung, causing Sherlock to open one eye. He was about to call out for John to get the door, but stopped himself before the words left his lips. Luckily, Mrs Hudson went to open the door, so there was no need for Sherlock to get up off the sofa; he could just lay there being his usual self. _

John stood patiently outside the door of 221B, his eyes drifting up and down the street as a strange sense of dejavu that was building inside him. He was so lost in his own thoughts that he did not hear the door open behind him. "Can I help you dear?" John spun his head around to be greeted by a very shocked woman; "I'm here to see Mr Holmes" She just carried on staring at him, a look of shock remaining on her face; and after a few moments of awkward silence. "Does he live here?" She visibly shook herself out of her shocked state before answering, "sorry dear, I dazed over a bit. Come on through. I'll let him know your here." She ushered him in, while turning around to walk up the stairs. Holding his cane firmly in his hand, John followed, his sense of dejavu increasing.

_"Sherlock dear, someone is here to see you." Sherlock was about to tell Mrs Hudson to send them away, despite his desperate want of a case, he was not in the mood to interact with people, which would be a problem that he would have to deal with. However, Mrs Hudson opened the door before he got the chance leading John into their old flat. Sherlock nearly fell of the sofa, but managed to catch himself and spin around so he was sitting on its edge. "I'll leave you boys to it" and with that Mrs Hudson left the room closing the door behind her. Sherlock's eyes flicked over Johns cane and then forward on to the wall. "Feel free to take a seat, before you explain why you need my services." He did not look John in the face; he knew he was not quite ready for that, especially while Johns gaze was fixed on him. "Yes I was the man at the bar last night, but I'm assuming you're not here to tell me that you couldn't stop thinking about me." The bitterness inside him defiantly came out in his voice. Even without turning his head, he knew that John had a bemused look on his face, and being secure in that knowledge he could not help but smirk slightly. Now John was back, showing off seemed appealing again. John slowly sank into his old armchair, before speaking up "I believe I have had something stolen." Sherlock rested his head on his hands, as he realised the full extent of what he was being asked to do, "Why don't you just go to the police, they are perfectly capable of finding stolen property?" He heard a chuckle come from John's direction and looked before he had the chance to think about it. "When did you start believing in the police force?" Sherlock did not know who was more surprised by what John said, "sorry, I don't know why I said that." There was a moment of awkward silence before Sherlock broke it, looking up at John for the first time since he entered the room, "so you were about to explain why you thought I would be better at find your stolen ring than the police." Now Sherlock had started looking at John he could not take his eyes off him. He wanted to ask how he is. He knew his PTSD must have returned, he was wondering if it had returned instantly or if it was a slow progression. To stop himself from asking, he leaned back into the sofa. "A patient of mine mentioned you once. She said you found her necklace and the thief in a day, and-" "and you wanted the ring back soon as you are planning to propose to your girlfriend." John again had a bemused look on his face, completely oblivious to the pain he was putting Sherlock through. Sherlock knew that he should turn the case down, but he also knew there was no way he was going to pass up spending time with John again. "Well it obviously isn't your ring Dr Watson, and I'll take the case." John looked like he was about to ask the obvious so Sherlock interrupted him, "Betty's doctor, the woman I found the necklace for, she said her doctor was called Watson." It was the first time Sherlock had lied about how he knew something, but it kept Johns brain from racing, or at least Sherlock thought it did. _

John had been filling Sherlock in on every miniscule detail about anything referring to the ring, most of it he could not understand why Sherlock would need to know; but he gave it all anyway. There was something unbelievably soothing about talking to the detective, his nods when he wanted John to continue and his dismissive hand gestures when he no longer found a piece of information useful. Sherlock was sprawled out along the sofa, barely making any noise, the only sign of life from him was his chest rising and falling, and even that subsided when John mentioned Mary's name. His whole body went stiff, at the mention of anything to do with her, while John could not stop himself from smiling. Once John had finished speaking, they just sat there in silence. John was getting slightly uncomfortable with it all, there was something uncomfortable about how comfortable he felt in a strangers presence in a foreign place. That is what made him feel really awkward, causing him to shift in the armchair, he wanted to make himself feel uncomfortable. He did not know if he should get up and leave or wait for Sherlock to speak again. Sherlock opened up one of his eyes, "make yourself a cup of tea if you want something to do. I shouldn't be much longer." John got up without even thinking to question where anything is; he was just glad for an excuse to do something.

Walking into the kitchen, John started to open up the cupboards, guessing correctly each time. It was as if his body was running on autopilot. It was not until he was carrying out two mugs of tea into the living room that it occurred to him that Sherlock might not want a tea, or even like tea. He made it without thinking and not wanting it to go to waste, he placed the tea by the sofa, before sitting back in the armchair, his cane still resting on the arm; not that John noticed. Sherlock peered down, "thanks" he said it at a volume that was lower than a whisper, and John only just caught it and smiled over at him. Sherlock quickly closed his eyes again, his hands resting on the bridge of his nose; then after rubbing his eyes in one swift motion, he sprung up onto his feet. John's eyes followed Sherlock into another room, where he came out only minutes later his coat and scarf draped over his arm. While putting them on, he looked over at John, "I'm heading off to the restaurant, you're welcome to join me, or you can let yourself out." He went over to the door, and John was up, cane in hand, standing right behind him. He walked out of the door first, brushing his arm against Sherlock's, making him loose concentration for a moment. "What are you waiting for Mr Holmes" John called as he started to walk down the stairs, and after Sherlock closed the door he was not far behind.


	4. Chapter 4 - And you hold me like that

(BBC) Sherlock – Disclaimer, I do not own the rights to the characters, the song the fic is loosely based on (Celiene Dion's 'It's All Coming Back To Me Now), the setting or the story, This all just a bit of fun, hope you enjoy.

This was written before I saw 'The Empty Hearse' so sorry about any inaccuracies. I am also sorry for any spelling/grammar errors. I did my best but I am only human. Please enjoy and feel free to leave any comments, it would be lovely to hear from you.

_Sherlock_

John

A car backfires, causing John to act in a way that surprises himself.

_Sherlock overtook John within a matter of moments, in account of his strides being so much longer, and of course, he was not in the possession of a psychosomatic limp. However, he did noticeably slow his pace, so he was never too far ahead; he wanted stay near to John while he had the chance. They walked for a bit before Sherlock got the attention of a passing taxi, John's increased breathing rate indicated he was struggling. He obviously hadn't done much exercise in the past three years, he was not unfit but Mary had obviously introduced him to a safe and comfortable way of living; it was probably what was best for him. However, Sherlock knew that John was not going to admit that he would rather be in a cab right now. As the taxi pulled up along the curb, Sherlock opened the back door and was about to climb in when John pushed passed him and slid across the seat; smiling at Sherlock while he did. The detective felt a flutter of hope rise inside him, even though consciously John did not recognise him; he was not interacting with Sherlock as a stranger. "Maybe ..." but Sherlock diminished this illogical thought quickly, his life had ended when he jumped, and though it was painful it was a worthy exchange for John's safety and happiness. Shutting the cab door behind him, Sherlock noticed John glance over at the drivers ID badge, a habit they had developed together. John began typing something into his phone, he had the same one he had when they meet all those years ago. John noticed Sherlock staring at him, and greeted him with a smile, "sorry about that" he put his phone back in his jacket pocket, "it is just a habit I developed so long ago I can't remember why I started it. I guess you can't be too careful." John still keeping the old habit made him smile; it was nice to know that John was keeping himself safe. Even though the messages where no longer sent to his phone, it was nice to know someone was caring for him; John deserved that._

It did not take them long to get back to the restaurant. Sherlock jumped out of the cab before it came to a full stop, pushing through the double doors of the entrance before John got the chance to climb out. John paid the driver and walked in after Sherlock, to find him underneath the exact table John and Mary were sitting at the night before, despite there being a young couple sitting there trying to eat their lunch. They looked bemused, and irritated, the man of the couple was about to say something when Sherlock dismissed him, "I'll be quick. You've tampered most of the evidence anyway." He muttered most of his dismissal but the couple didn't say anything, they became terribly British about the whole thing and just sat there, giving him sideways glances. He glanced back round to face John and rolled his eyes, causing John to smirk at himself. Sherlock was the only man he had meet that would be irritated about someone being annoyed that he had interrupted them. Before this point it hadn't even occurred to him to question how Sherlock knew what table to go to, "How did you –" but Sherlock interrupted him with an "irrelevant" before John could finish. He was about to offer his services before stopping himself, he suspected he would probably be no help to such a brilliant man, and if Sherlock needed something he was under no illusion that he wouldn't just ask. So instead he sat down on one of the bar stalls, and watched the man work. He was transfixed, and was deeply lost in thought. It wasn't until Sherlock was practically standing on top of him, calling his name, that he snapped out of it. "I have learnt nothing useful here so I will need to look at your flat." John just looked at him while raising his eyebrows, "unless you can think of somewhere else you have gone with the ring." Sherlock just stood staring at him, appearing as if he was trying to see if he had offended John. Which seemed strange to him, as in the short time John had known him he did not seem to care about people's emotion at the expense of a case; he was flattered by the concern though. "Yeah, no, of course. That's the only other place I remember having the ring." Climbing up on to his feet, he led Sherlock out into the street.

_Sherlock was disappointed by what he had found in the restaurant on a professional level, but on a personal level, he was secretly thrilled. Nothing being in the restaurant meant that it had to be taken from Johns home. He knew that later on he would regret seeing the hub of John's new life, a life that worked well without him, but at the moment curiosity was too much. Walking into the flat Sherlock knew instantly that Mary was in charge of the interior, the wallpaper alone was not something the John he knew would have never have chosen. However, if you started to look around the flat, Sherlock could see aspects of John scattered around. It made Sherlock smile to see that John still had a jumper collection. Despite everything that had changed it was comforting to know that some things never change. Sherlock's favourite cream knitted jumper was draping over and old comfortable looking arm chair, reliable and slightly warn, and very obviously John's chair. With a nod from John's direction, Sherlock removed his scarf before searching every nook of the flat. Areas that he knew had no connection to the ring from a quick glance, he would still closely examine. He knew that this was the only opportunity he was going to get to examine John's new life and he was not going to waste a moment of it. _

John watched Sherlock from a far, not knowing if he should be worried that a complete stranger was looking at every personal aspect of his flat, but for some reason he trusted this man completely. John could not think of many places that he would feel uncomfortable with Sherlock inspecting, he rationalised that he was just desperate to find out where the ring was, but if he was being truthful, he did not think that was entirely true. John hung up his coat and went to leave the room, to make them both a cup of tea before Sherlock stopped him, "if you could recall for me everything you did in the flat last night." John was sure Sherlock knew what he did without him having to recall anything, but despite this, he launched into the tale of the mundane activities that occurred when he and Mary got back to the flat. There was something very comforting about talking to him about something mundane, a real catharsis.

_ Sherlock tried to keep the process going for as a long as possible, the topic of discussion felt like a punch in the gut but the sound of Johns voice warmed every aspect of his heart, so he kept quiet a let John ramble on. However, even with Sherlock's attempt at a delay, it was over far too quickly and before he knew it, John was leading him back onto the street. Sherlock explained how he would have the ring back to John soon, it wouldn't be hard to locate, he was certain he knew exactly who had the ring. The whole time he was speaking, he tried to get a good look at John, as he suspected he would not see John alone again. John distracted him, the way his eyes shone when he explained he would get the ring back for his precious Mary. He wanted to hate Mary, Sherlock was desperate to find a reason to hate her; so desperate he wondered if his judgement was being clouded. However, she made John happy and he had to remember that. The joy that was produced in John was because of her, the joy that was now captivating his attention, the joy that distracted him so much that he did not register the event was happening until it had taken place. The sound of gunshot rippled down the street, and even though Sherlock worked out it was a car backfire in a matter of seconds, he did not have time to prevent himself from being thrown down the alley way, making his back land with a thud on the pavement. John was lying on him in a matter of moments and the proximity that was being shared between them made it very difficult for Sherlock to control his breathing. Luckily John seemed to interpret the loss of breath as a reaction to the possibility of nearly being shot. John remained shielding Sherlock from the nonexistent gun for what felt like a very long time. Their faces where pressed together, so John's moustache was tickling his chin. Sherlock's hand was being crushed between the two chests and therefore he could feel John's unsteady heartbeat match his own. _

_ John pulled away slowly, still leaning over the detectives but the proximity had been decreased, and Sherlock could now move his hand away, flexing his cramping fingers. "sorry about that, it must be an old reflex." Sherlock managed to form a smile in John's direction, in a hope it would make John feel less embarrassed. However, it all seemed to do was make John turn a deeper shade of red. "It's fine." Sherlock tried to sit up and brush himself down, anything to move away from John, who was now straddling him, so he could not move. Just an accident, a way they both fell, nether the less, it was making Sherlock's mind race. It felt like a moment from one of his fantasies and if he was not careful his feelings would start showing in a way that even the great Sherlock Holmes could talk his way out of. Sitting up caused Sherlock to feel the sharp pain in his head that was caused by his sudden impact with the floor. The grimace in his face was obviously clear, as John moved off him quickly, "where you hit?" The concern in his voice was clear and Sherlock was confused to why John cared that much, why did he throw his body over a man that he believed he did not know because John was still clearly under the impression that it was a gunshot. "There was no gunshot John, that was a car backfiring." He was now rubbing the back of his head, checking if it had been cut, the back of his head did not feel wet, but a small speck of blood came off on his fingers. On hearing the news John did not appear to be calming, he looked even more embarrassed, if that was possible. "So I just ... I'm sorry Sherlock." He leant forward to check the back of his head, doctors concern is what Sherlock assumed, but when John placed his fingers on where the small cut was his fingers got tangled into the detectives curls. Causing their eyes to lock momentarily, the only issue was that was that once they had meet each other's gaze neither man had the strength to pull away. _


	5. Chapter 5 - It would always seem right

(BBC) Sherlock – Disclaimer, I do not own the rights to the characters, the song the fic is loosely based on (Celiene Dion's 'It's All Coming Back To Me Now), the setting or the story, This all just a bit of fun, hope you enjoy.

This was written before I saw 'The Empty Hearse' so sorry about any inaccuracies. I am also sorry for any spelling/grammar errors. I did my best but I am only human. Please enjoy and feel free to leave any comments, it would be lovely to hear from you.

_Sherlock_

John

Sherlock finds John's missing ring, in a surprising turn of events.

John was the first to pull away from the gaze; he quickly pulled his hand out of Sherlock's hair and stood up abruptly. Brushing himself down thoroughly as an excuse to keep his gaze on the floor he broke the awkward silence between them, "there doesn't seem to be much blood, just a small cut. You'll be fine." He still felt extremely self-conscious about throwing Sherlock to the floor in a darkened alleyway, while straddling the man so he could not stand up. Even if he tried to rationalise that he was convinced it was gunshot, so it was just a leftover instinct from his army days, but it felt different. When he thought Sherlock had been shot, he felt like a great weight had returned, his heart seemed to seize up and all he could think was not again, I can't do this again. Again he assumed it was a leftover thought from the war, not wanting another dead body on his watch, but again he no longer believed that to be true. He was confused and ashamed, and it was certainly not any easier to look at Sherlock, despite the real urge he had to look at the man and never stop.

_Sherlock for the first time was not aware of what was going on around him, his mind was still racing. He could still feel the warmth of John's gaze, the feel of his body, his hand in his hair. He felt his fingers go back to the small cut. He was trying to give the impression he wanted to inspect it again for himself, but he really just wanted to feel the place that John had just so lovingly touched. Sentiment was painful, but if he had to spend the rest of his life alone, at least he could remember this wonderful moment, a moment when he actually felt like someone could love him. It was taking a lot of will power to not push John up against the alley wall and kiss him. Kiss him with everything he had, so even if he never remembered he would know for that moment how Sherlock felt about him, how Sherlock had always felt about him. However, Sherlock did come back to earth eventually, allowing him to observe John, who was currently staring at the cracks in the pavement. Hiding his fisted hands in his coat pockets, to stop himself from manually tilting John's chin so their eye contact was recaptured, Sherlock repeated himself; "John honestly it's fine, if it was a gunshot I would have been extremely grateful. I still am grateful –" his voice trailed off as he was interrupted by the sound of a cab slowing down. He wanted to continue reassuring John, but he correctly concluding that it was Mary in the cab, a person who Sherlock had no intention of meeting, "-but I've got to go. I'll let you know when I crack the case Dr Watson." With that Sherlock left the alley way without looking back._

Sherlock was gone before John had a chance to even look up. He felt Marys hand stroke his arm, and he turned around instantly to greet her with a quick kiss and a strong hug. It felt nice to hold Mary in his arms, breath in her flowery scent. It felt safe, normal, like he was exactly where he was supposed to be, but if John Watson knew anything about himself is that he didn't like safe and normal. He liked adventure and danger, as much as he was glad it was Mary he was holding, his mind was still completely captivated by Sherlock. They walked back to the flat hand in hand, exchanging pleasantries about their day. John talked about a young boy he treated in the morning and the neurotic mother he had who brought him in with a grazed knee. While Mary went on to talk about an amusing story she was told by a colleague in her office. It was calming to exchange pleasantries, how easy the conversation flowed made it feel so natural the chemistry between the two of them was undeniably there, but the minute John was about to mention the Sherlock part of the day, leaving the ring part of the story of course, his migraine returned from the previous night. So when they arrived back at their flat, John apologised again before taking some more painkillers and climbing into bed, hoping sleep would help. It might have helped if he could actually get any sleep – but the minute he closed his eyes he was tossing and turning again. The same nightmare came back. John was standing, looking up at the roof of Barts hospital, phone in hand. Sherlock was talking to him, but he could not make out the conversation. John could hear nothing but his pounding heart; and the next thing he knew he was looking at Sherlock laying face down on the pavement, a pool of blood forming around his head. John woke up screaming again, his sheets damp with sweat.

_ Sherlock was walking down the street at an alarmingly fast pace, his mind was racing and deducing the lives of passing strangers was not calming him like it usually did, it didn't seem to help anymore at all. He made a mental note to find a new calming technique. He was so desperate for a distraction that when Lestrade called, he picked up first time. "What do you want?" "Sherlock ... what's wrong?" Sherlock could sense the genuine concern in his voice mixed with surprise, "yes Lestrade I picked up the phone it's a bloody miracle; now why did you call?" Lestrade realised he wasn't going to get an answer to his question, if he had learnt anything in the last few years is that the Holmes boys were stubborn, "I need your help." "I do not get involved in any of my brothers relationships; if he is throwing a hissy fit then you will have to find your own way of solving it." Sherlock was about to hang up, getting highly irritated at something that would only normally be a mild irritation, Lestrade spoke again, "How did you – never mind. I need your help with a case actually." Sherlock hesitated for a moment, he was technically working on case for John and did not like to take on more than one. No matter how simple it was, he wanted to give it his full attention, especially as it was important to John. However, he was desperate for a distraction, "send me the address" and before Lestrade could reply, he hung up and hailed over the nearest cab, barking the address that Lestrade had just text to him, as he climbed in the back._

After trying to get to sleep for the fifth time John gave up, he must have got about ten minutes sleep in the two hours he had been trying. He was being haunted by the same nightmare each time; it was as if his unconscious was a record that was stuck on repeat. Climbing out of bed, his head ache being dulled slightly by the painkillers, he walked towards the bathroom. Still in a sleepy daze he bent down to pick up a towel that was not there; it was only when his fingers brushed the cold tiles that he woke up properly. Readjusting to a standing position, he moved to turn the shower on, while wondering why he had bent down in the first place because Mary cleaned up after herself and he certainly never left his wet towels over the floor. Guessing that it was a moment of madness, he shook it off and climbed into the steaming shower to wash away the sweat and to stop the shivering. John stood in the shower until the water ran cold, trying to wash away any emotion and thought connected to Sherlock Holmes. It didn't work. Towel drying his hair as he walked back into the bedroom, he was greeted by Mary lounging on their bed with his phone in her hands. "Whose ... SH, honey?" and without hesitation John replied "Sherlock" and then he paused wondering how on earth he knew that without question, and how had Sherlock got his number for that matter. "Why has he text you –" she paused to scroll down the phone, "five times, in the last ten minutes?" Johns heart skipped a beat and he was not sure why, but trying to ignore it he leaned over Mary for the phone. Kissing her on the head as he grabbed it, "don't worry love you have nothing to be jealous about." Though looking down at the messages he could see why she would be.

**Mr Watson I have what went missing – SH**

**Mr Watson come to this address if convenient – SH**

**If not come any way – SH**

**John this might be more serious than I first thought – SH**

**John I am not waiting for you for much longer, if you do not get here soon I'm starting without you -SH**

John sighed as he locked his phone, did the man having any social theatre, or even an understanding to how his messages could be received. Rolling his eyes, he started to get changed back into his jeans, "I've got to go out love, I don't know when I'll be back." He was talking as he was pulling his jumper on over his head, while picking up his cane and keys, he left the apartment, and it was not until he was outside that he began to question why Mary had not asked who Sherlock actually was.

_ Sherlock was waiting impatiently along the side of the street, the police tape shaking in the wind, the irony of his location was not wasted on him as he looked up at the looming Barts hospital. He had already explained to Lestrade the problem with John, but he was leaving him to explain it to the others. He could not bear to have to explain their situation to the likes of Donnavon. However, part of him wished that he could have built up the courage to do it as he was not sure if Lestrade would leave out some of the more personal details. He wished none of the force would know anything about this, that John would never have to get involved in one of these situations again, but he could see no way around it. He heard John walk round the corner before he saw him; his step was so distinctive to Sherlock's ears, he could pick it out anywhere, even without the cane. "What's the problem Sherlock?" Sherlock didn't reply he just lifted the police tape and walked under it, leaving it raised until John followed. Sherlock walked over to the body lying under the white cloth, while being greeted by an onslaught of pitying looks. It made him feel very uncomfortable; he was used to glares and hatred not sympathy. John still seemed confused, "Donnovan, hand him the box, the ring belongs to him." When Donnovan passed, she placed her hand on his shoulder, and he pulled away almost instantly. He would never forgive the woman, she feel straight into Moriaty's trap too easily, it was as if she wanted to believe what Moriarty was saying is true. To avoid the completely unsubtle despite their best effort pity glances, Sherlock bent down by the body and pulled back the cloth. He recognised the face instantly it was one of Moriarty's snipers, the one that was meant to shoot John. The one sniper he could not find. The man that made him jump, that stopped him from living the last two years of his life. The man that meant John no longer knew who he was. The urge to get a sharp object and plunge it into every piece of flesh until there was no longer a body to investigate. He was lost in this thought and therefore was startled when he noticed John kneeling down next to him, placing his hand on Sherlock's shoulder to steady himself. He went back to examining the body as quickly as possible, he did not want to give the force to have any more reason to make fun of him about this. Though he no longer needed to examine the body he already got what he could, there was no mystery about the killing. How it happened was obvious, it was just a question of who._

"_It was obviously planned." Sherlock could feel his lips form a genuine smile for the first time in two years, "the first sensible comment I've heard." The surrounding party members looked confused, so Sherlock relishing the chance to show off in front of someone that would appreciate it, decided to put them out of their misery, "well nothing was taken so it wasn't a mugging gone wrong, a chance killing. They also managed to kill him with one fatal shot; it was a quick death, no chance he would call out for help. The lack of evidence and weapon, suggests they had a plan, or even more likely that the shot was fired a long distance. Suggesting the killer is a good marksmen, who is was hired, considering he did not even chance taking the engagement ring that is worth two months of a GP's salary." John shook his head in astonishment, "you got all of that from a bullet wound." He was slightly taken aback by the comment, "but I thought you got that from the wound ..." "I knew that is was fired from a distance, but that was just marvellous." At that moment, he realised how much he had missed John's astonishment from such simple observations, "do you realise you are talking aloud?" He said it quietly as a small joke to himself, but John replied without hesitation, "sorry, I'll stop." "No, no its fine" and at that moment he had could hear Donnovan let out a small sob. _

John did not know why he felt so comfortable on the crime scene; he went straight to the body and started to examine it. It just felt natural, and despite the weird glances he was getting from the police force, nobody tried to stop him. He interacted with Sherlock easily, it was as if they had been doing it for years. It was actually quiet an enjoyable experience, once you got past the fact that there was a dead body lying on the ground, and as long as John did not look up at the hospital roof. Sherlock finished looking at the scene in minutes; he knew who the victim was before he started to examine him. It was just a quick glance over to confirm where he had been hiding all this time. Readjusting to his full height, Sherlock went to leave the scene when John spoke up. "The only question, you haven't answered is why he had my ring?" "Oh I don't think that is a question." Sherlock snapped his head round to stare at a dishevelled Anderson and the woman Sherlock referred to as Donnovan hit him on the arm, while he held his hand over his mouth. Now all of them were exchanging odd glances, it was like there was an obvious secret that he was out of, and it was now beginning to get on his nerves. That is when the police inspector Lestrade spoke up, "John, you have your ring back. Maybe it would be better if you stayed away from this now. You've got a long life with Mary ahead of you, don't involve yourself with this." John could swear that Sherlock flinching at the mention of Mary's name was no longer just a figment of his imagination. "This murder obviously has some connection to me, and I want to know why? Especially if mine or Mary's safety is at stake." Lestrade looked in Sherlock's direction, as if he wanted to know how to proceed, "John, I will solve this in no time at all, in fact I think I'm nearly there, and I now have additional motivation to solve this. So don't worry, you don't have to question your safety." Sherlock was looking straight in John's eyes the whole time he spoke, his hand was now resting on his shoulder, and it was as if no one else was present. John could tell he wanted nothing more than John to believe what he was saying to him; and John did, completely. Actually, the whole speech caused his stomach to flutter, and his slight embarrassment was now probably showing on his face. "If you have a personal motivation for completing this case then surely you are in more danger than usual." There was a pause before John continued with his little speech, "so Mr Holmes if you are willing to disregard your own safety for this case then so am I. And encase you forgot I was an army doctor, danger is not new to me."

_Sherlock felt extremely embarrassed, it had been a long time that anybody had shown any regard for his safety and he had just been extremely sentimental in front of the force, of all people. "You two are ridiculous. He doesn't even remember you and you manage to have a domestic" she spoke carelessly, but without even hesitating Sherlock let out all of his pent up frustration on Donnovan's face with his fist. Knocking her to the floor and breaking her nose. She looked up at Lestrade, but Lestrade just shook his head, "Sherlock you shouldn't punch a woman." Sherlock for a rare moment in his life was actually about to apologise for an action of him, he acted without thinking it through, which only ever happened in extreme circumstances, but then Donnovan spoke again, "wow the freak has feelings." She was wiping her nose with the back of her hand, but Sherlock didn't wait to hear everyone's response, he rapped his coat around him and stormed off. He was surprised to hear John follow him, and even more surprised by what Lestrade said next, "you make it really hard for me to feel sorry for you sometimes. Someone get her something to clean the blood up with." _

_He did not slow down until he was no longer in the sight of them all, despite John repeatedly calling his name. Eventually John made him stop by grabbing his arm, "Sherlock I said stop. What did she mean Sherlock? What did she mean he doesn't even remember you?" Sherlock stopped but he would not turn round to answer John. He did not want John to see the tears forming in his eyes; it was a miracle he managed to keep his voice steady. "Ignore Donnovan, she is an idiot that relishes any moment she can find to make fun of me." John released his grip on Sherlock's arm and took a step back from him, "It's just Sherlock ... um if he is implying that me and you are in a relationship or that there is something between us - I'm straight Sherlock." Sherlock audibly winced at that, he knew John would never be attracted to him, that they were never going to be together, especially after what had occurred over the past two years, but hearing it from John, it felt like he had just been punched in the heart. He should have just said, 'I am never going to love you Sherlock, to be honest I'll never even care about you again because I don't remember you and I never will.' Sherlock could sense that John wanted him to turn to face him and he could no longer resist. As he slowly turned, John's eyes feel in line with Sherlock's hand, and noticed it was slightly cut from where he had punched Donnovan. He reached forward for it, grasping it in both hands, and ran his thumbs in slow concentric circles over his slightly grazed knuckles. "Is this a regular event for you then, punching women?" He went to check the other hand, but Sherlock pulled away, unsure if John was joking with him or not, "I don't – I'm not" John chuckled, slightly out of relief Sherlock suspected, "I know you're not. I don't approve of men hitting women, but I can see why you did it. Though maybe learn how to throw a better punch. You shouldn't hurt yourself when punching someone else." Sherlock let out a sigh of relief, and for the second time did something without thinking, "Maybe you could teach me." Sherlock regretted it the moment the words left his mouth, what was he saying, was he attempting to flirt with a man that would never return his affection. John did not seem to notice though. He had taken Sherlock's other hand, running his thumb up and down his lifelines, sending shivers down Sherlock's spine. For a man who insisted he was not gay, he was being very intimate with another man, but then maybe he was just letting his imagination run wild with possibilities. He was looking John up and down, trying to work out what was going on without making John stop. The moment did end though; it ended when John's phone vibrated in his pocket. _

_ He gazed out of the window the whole cab journey home. John was called away by Mary, well not called away but she was checking up on him and he decided to call it a night. So Sherlock was now alone again in a taxi, driving back to 221B. He was so lost in his own thoughts that he did not even realise they had arrived, until the driver asked him to leave. He unlocked the front door, and was greeted by an eerie silence. Normally he would hear some noise coming from Mrs Hudson's flat at this time in the evening, the kettle would be boiling or the TV would be on as background noise, but currently there was not a sound. "Mrs Hudson?" he called out into the silence a few time and when his only reply for the third time was silence, he forced his way through Mrs Hudson's locked front door, damaging his right shoulder slightly in the process. "Mrs Hudson?" panic was beginning to edge through his voice, after everything that had happened in the last week he could not afford to lose Mrs Hudson. To be honest he could not afford lose Mrs Hudson, no matter what his week had been like. Slowly edging his way into the kitchen, he found a terrified looking Mrs Hudson tied to a dining room chair with duck tape across her mouth. He ran over to her and pulled the tape away from her face, "Sherlock upstairs." Her eyes glanced up as she spoke and without stopping to untie her he ran out of her flat and up the stairs, taking two in his stride at a time. The door was wide open and the smell of fresh paint hit him instantly, and when he walked to the flat, his head turned the left he saw a message painted on the opposite wall. _

'**You should have fallen properly Mr Holmes,**

**If you want us to keep to our end of the bargain, then you had better keep to yours.**

**Come and get your prize, because we will take some one's life.**

**But we will let you choose whose it is.'**

_Once he had inspected the message a few times and worked out where he had to go, Sherlock text Lestrade about Mrs Hudson to make sure he would be ok and then after throwing his phone into the mess of the flat, so no one could trace him, he ran out onto the street, looking for a taxi._


	6. Chapter 6 - When you kiss me like that

(BBC) Sherlock – Disclaimer, I do not own the rights to the characters, the song the fic is loosely based on (Celiene Dion's 'It's All Coming Back To Me Now), the setting or the story, This all just a bit of fun, hope you enjoy.

Adult language + violence

This was written before I saw 'The Empty Hearse' so sorry about any inaccuracies. I am also sorry for any spelling/grammar errors. I did my best but I am only human. Please enjoy and feel free to leave any comments, it would be lovely to hear from you.

_Sherlock_

John

John and Sherlock are in a sticky situation, that not even the great Sherlock Holmes can get them out of.

John opened his eyes to be greeted with a pain in his head and a drowsy feeling that filled him from head to toe. He felt like he had the worst hang over he had ever experienced, but without the pleasure of getting drunk the night before. He tried to remember how he had ended up tied to railings, in the basement of what appeared to be a hospital. The last thing he could remember was putting his key in the lock to enter his flat and now he had blood trickling down from his scalp and his wrists were stinging from the rope burn. He felt someone force the head of a gun down on the cut on his temple, causing him to cry out in pain. "Look who decided to join us Mr Holmes." John's eyes darted around the room until they settled onto the dishevelled body of Sherlock, lying face down on a mattress, which was now stained red. His curls were sticking to his head, due to a mix of blood and sweat. His back looked like somebody had been whipping him along the back, and striking him with a hot iron. His voice was breaking, but he managed to call out, "don't hurt him, please. You got me, let him go. You promised." He sounded so deflated, any strength he appeared to have left, left Sherlock in front of John's eyes. "Oh look John, the great detective is crying. The freak does actually have feelings." The man's voice made Johns toes curls, and he was sure that if he were not tied up he would have throttled him there and then. Keeping his voice as calm and steady as possible, "Sherlock, what's going on?" Sherlock did not reply, to be honest if it was not for his chest rising and falling John would be convinced that Sherlock was no longer with them, and that thought for some reason terrified more than anything. "You don't know," and then in what appeared to be a light bulb moment for the man with a gun, "you still don't recognise him. Oh this is precious, he had just been beaten to the point where he is struggling to stay conscious and you don't even know who he is" and with that comment he broke into crazed laughter, the gun slipping away from John's head, making his pain slightly less. John tried to turn his head to face the man pointing the gun at his head, but the attempt at movement caused the gun to be positioned back onto his injury forcing his head forward. "Why does everyone keep saying that? Sherlock what the fuck is going on?" The psychopath with the gun did not give Sherlock a chance to answer, he was in his own world of humiliating Sherlock to care about what John had said. "I wonder if you were the one whipping him on a mattress would he enjoy it. Maybe you did that sort of kinky shit before the fall, or is he still a frigid virgin?" John caught Sherlock looking over at them both, his nose was clearly broken, another thing to add to his list of injuries, but John was certain that his physical condition was not causing the hurt and humiliation that was contained in his eyes.

_Johns face was displaying a combination of confusion, fear and anger. Sherlock felt so frustrated, what was the point in being so fucking clever if he could not even keep the person he was in love with safe. "Oh Sherlock, don't look at us like that if you could just die like a good boy then we wouldn't have this problem." Sherlock did not recognising their torturer he would assume that it was another one of Moriarty's minions, he was sure he had killed them all, but more kept appearing. They were like mosquitoes. He just wanted this over with, "if you are going to kill me get on with it, I don't really go in for the prolonged sentiment thing." He started laughing again, "oh Mr Holmes, we all know that if sentiment is what I asked for in exchange of Johns life you would pour your heart out, or whatever pump you have in the place your heart should be."_ _Sherlock fixed his eyes on Johns, he wanted to see John's reaction to all of this, but he did not think he heard what had just been said, John was too busy finally piecing the information coming together. "You actually jumped from the roof of Barts. It wasn't a nightmare, it was real life?" The psycho started clapping his hands, before stroking John's face, "I'm afraid so Johnny boy." John flinched at the man's skin encountering his or it could have been from the ridiculous nickname. "Take your hand off him." All of the men turned their heads to view the female that had now entered the room. "Mary?" "Hello John" and with that Mary shot their torturer in the head. _

John felt himself calm down at the sight of Mary, "Mary, I'm not even going to question what just happened, just untie me so I can tend to Sherlock." Even though he could not remember knowing the man, his attachment to the man now made a bit more sense. He started to pull at his ties but they were too tight for him to get pull out of, "no can do Johnny boy. Wow, that nickname is fun to say." John was shocked, "what do you mean no?" he looked at Marys face properly for the first time since she walked into the room, she looked deranged and clam all at the same time. He recognised the facial expression as if he had seen it on someone else before. "I'm so sorry John", his eyes darted back to Sherlock when he spoke and then flickered between the two of them. "Who do you think organised for the ring to be stolen, and then who shot the thief? I am so sorry, I never wanted you to get hurt. I should have just stayed away. It is the first time in my life I hoped I was wrong, and maybe I should have told you sooner, but I kept putting off. Hoping your ignorance would keep you safe." He was speaking at a ridiculous pace while tears formed in his eyes and John was genuinely shocked by the outburst. Mary started slowly clapping as she walked closer to them. "Well done Mr Holmes, even when your life is in the balance you cannot resist the chance to show off. Though you got your wish, you did get one thing wrong. I stole the ring originally to keep John from proposing. It was not directly connected to you, but then you appeared, and, well I do hate to waste an opportunity. If John wasn't going to tell me about Moriarty's network willing, I will drag it out of him." John looked on baffled as Sherlock shook his head in disbelief, Sherlock nearly spat out his next words. "You stupid woman, I told him nothing about Moriarty's network, and if I did he doesn't fucking remember anything about me. You did too good of a job Dr Morstan." Sherlock was spitting the information at Mary, and John was struggling to process all of the new information. He did not know what to feel anymore. However, they appeared to have no intention of slowing down the revelations. "Well done Mr Holmes, you worked out how John and I meet." "But we meet –" "– oh wise up John!" They both snapped at John at the same time, and then the penny finally dropped. "You made me forget him, you made me forget Sherlock."

_"Well now everyone in the room is up to date, can you get on with it Mary." Sherlock was now struggling to breathe and wanted the pain to stop, both physical and emotional. "Why Mr Holmes, the fun is just beginning. I liked my employee's idea about sentiment; let's make the psychopath admit to emotions." Despite the pain he was in he still managed to roll his eyes, "I'm a high functioning sociopath, so your research." She sighed, "I'm about to humiliate you and then kill you. If I'm happy with your performance I might post the film online. John's blog hasn't been updated for a while." She chuckled at her own joke, before bending down and pointing the gun at Sherlock's head, "Up." Sherlock shook his head, "I said up!" Sherlock still had no intention of moving, so Mary placed her finger on the trigger. "Mary leave him alone." "Shut up, dear. I might spare you if you're lucky, but we will have to discuss that later" while speaking Mary turned her body to face John taking the gun with her, and with that Sherlock slowly raised himself to his feet fighting through the pain, just in case Mary decided to get trigger happy. He brought her attention back towards him, with a stuttered sentence, "don't talk to him like that." Turning at the sound of his voice, she also had a moment of realisation "Of course, your safety is not the best motivational tool I have at my disposal." Keeping the gun on John, she pulled out her phone and Sherlock assumed that she had started filming her little improvised piece of theatre._

"_Now you can tell John, the most homosexual straight man I have ever meet, how you really feel before you die." Sherlock felt a lump form in his throat, "I told you I don't. Do. Sentiment." But then Mary forced the gun in Johns mouth, and he realised how correct the dead man's previous deductions were, Sherlock Holmes was willing to do anything no matter how uncomfortable it made him when John's life was in the balance. Looking at the floor, Sherlock whispered "where do you want me to start?" Without looking Sherlock could tell that Mary was smiling, she knew she had defeated him, Sherlock could find no way out of this, other than watching John's brain being splattered on the wall in front of him, and that was not an option he relished the thought of. "You're a clever man you'll figure it out, and speak up a bit when you do. The sound quality on the phone isn't great." Sherlock looked over at the gun in John's mouth and that is what confirmed that Sherlock was defiantly going to speak up. Only he could not think of what to say, every word from every language he knew had vanished from his mind, and as he suspected he did not have time to go to his mind palace properly he realised he was completely out of his depth. For once Sherlock Holmes did not know what to do, he was completely lost for words at a time when it mattered most. _

John finally managed to spit the gun out of his mouth, "Sherlock you don't have to do this, she wouldn't actually kill me." They where meant as words of comfort, but all John's words did was cause Sherlock to start crying again. "I'm not willing to take that risk John. The one thing I have never and will never be willing to risk is your life, no matter what the cost." John felt his heart swell inside his chest. Even though he now knew that he should remember Sherlock he still couldn't, he kept coming up against what felt like a brick wall every time he tried. However, the fact that he was willing to do this for him. To allow himself to be tortured and then killed without putting up a fight, made him want to follow his gut instinct and wipe the tears off Sherlock's cheeks before kissing him, anything to let him know that even though he did not know why, he felt the same way. "Carry on Mr Holmes." Mary was trying to pry more out of him and it was making anger boil in the pit of Johns stomach, "leave it Mary, can't you tell he's uncomfortable with this. That was probably the most emotion his shown in his whole fucking life." She smiled over at him, but her eyes were cold, there was no love there anymore, "as true as that is John, it is not enough to stop me getting trigger happy. Why won't you risk his life Mr Holmes?"

_Sherlock knew exactly what she was doing, and he it killed him to give her the satisfaction, but the image of the gun forced its way back into his mind's eye. So with all the strength he had left in him he forced himself to hold Johns gaze. If he was going to show sentiment, he was going to go the extreme, he was going to do this properly, and he would not remember this moment soon any way, and therefore he had got past the point of caring. Therefore, once he knew Mary was filming him he started to speak. "Because Mary, I am in love with John Watson. The last two years without him have been torture. Because knowing that he no longer knew me, felt like someone had ripped my heart out and threw it in the fire. Because seeing how his face lit up when he mentioned you over the past couple of days, has killed me. But what hurt even more is knowing that you did not share his feelings and one day you were going to break his heart – making him feel what I feel right now, something I wouldn't even wish on you. Because even though these last days have been agony, spending time with him has also made me, the happiest I have been in the last two years. And because even though the idea of not spending the rest of my life with him kills me, I would rather that, than knowing there is a world out there where John Hamish Watson was not alive; because that world is not living in. He is the only person I have ever and will ever love and I would not have it any other way." He then spun his head round to face her, "was that good enough for you." She hesitated before speaking again; he could almost hear the clogs turning in her head as she thought of this idea, "kiss him. I want you to be rejected and I want it on camera." "Is that really necessary Mary." Mary ignored John completely as pointed the gun back at his head, "I said kiss him." Even though it was not how he imagined his first kiss with John would be, and God he had imagined it several times, in many different scenarios from gentle and romantic, to hot and unbelievably passionate. The idea of kissing John was defiantly appealing. _

_He approached John slowly, and placed his hand under his chin. Blocking Mary and the camera with his back, he began to search John's eyes. The fact that John did not pull away from Sherlock's touch was comforting, maybe John was just being the wonderful man was going to let Sherlock have one kiss in his life time, without it being forced upon him or without someone laughing in his face. Bracing himself Sherlock leant forward and whispered in John's ear, "I'm sorry". He then looked in John's eyes one more time before tenderly placing his lips on the doctors. The man he had loved from the moment they had met._

John felt something inside him explode, as if the wall had been blown up by dynamite. His felt like an electric current was being sent around his whole body, and if his hands were not tied down nothing would have stopped him from running them through Sherlock's beautiful curls. With the actual thought of Sherlock's name, every memory appeared to come back at once. He was bombarded with every emotion at once and just as he was about to deepen the kiss Sherlock pulled away. "John?" He assumed Sherlock being the marvellous man he was realised that something had changed, that he remembered everything. Sherlock could always read people like they were books. It was at that point when he felt tears falling down his cheeks, he wondered how long he had been crying for, he hoped to God it was not when Sherlock was kissing him, he did not want him to think he had done something wrong. He was actually a brilliant kisser, and John was not sure why he was surprised, Sherlock was brilliant at everything he attempted. It was just after all this time just seeing him alive, especially knowing that he did not know who the man really was a few seconds ago felt nothing short of a miracle. He wanted nothing but Sherlock's lips back on his own, or maybe somewhere else on his body, just as long as Sherlock was kissing him again. Remembering where they were, John decided that getting what he wanted in this scenario was not the best idea. John started to think of a way he could get them both out alive. Now he had Sherlock back he was not going to let him go. He knew that his next act would be nothing short of cruel but it was for their own good, and part of him felt that Sherlock needed to have his heart intentionally ripped out by John. After all he did leave him for two years.

_ Sherlock was franticly searching Johns face for any signs of how he took the kiss. He knew John was crying, but the cause of that could be a number of things. Obviously, something had changed in the kiss, or maybe it was the cause kiss itself. Did John remember or was Sherlock just kidding himself, to be honest Sherlock's brain was blank at the moment all he could think about was his first kiss; the feel of Johns lips on his. He never thought he would be brought back to reality in such a harsh way, "SHERLOCK HOLMES! YOU FUCKING GIT! MARY UNTIE ME NOW AND I WILL THROTTLE HIM FOR YOU." Sherlock's knees went from underneath him and he felt the remaining pieces of his heartbreak. The amount of time he had been wrong over the past week shocked him, the pain of John knowing who he was and not care. John, his caring brave John, hating him; he concluded it would be better to let them kill him. He had nothing to fight for anymore. "Mary I mean it, untie me so I can shoot the fucking git in the head. Two years Sherlock, two years! You broke my heart, then let me move on with a psychopath who only wanted me for you and then you make me remember so my heart breaks twice in one fucking night. You are such a prick!" He was now franticly trying to get out of the ropes; he was putting more effort in now than he did when he thought he was going to be shot. "Mary why am I still tied up?!" John was visibly shaking from the outburst and Sherlock had to look away, he did not want them to see him anymore, he was at the point where he was tempted to snatch the gun and blow his own brains out. "Hmmm... with an attitude like that John maybe our relationship doesn't have to end. After all you can't be too bad if you can make Sherlock Holmes fall in love with you, and you are a good fuck." Sherlock did not want to see what actions were accompanying what Mary was saying. Sherlock was desperately trying to block out the sounds coming from Mary and Johns lips, he did not realise how close John was to him until he felt John's breath on his neck. "Look at me Sherlock!" Sherlock refused to move his head, though it took all his will power. He felt the head of the gun being pressed against his back, "I said look at me Sherlock. I want to see the life drain out of your eyes." Sherlock caved in, he thought if he was going to die, looking into John's eyes would not be a bad way to go, despite the hate and fury he suspected to see radiating from them. They stared at each other for a moment, before John clicked off the safety and placed his finger on the trigger, and then in a move that shocked everyone in the room, John spun and shot a bullet straight into Mary's left leg. _


	7. Chapter 7 - Forgive me all this

(BBC) Sherlock – Disclaimer, I do not own the rights to the characters, the song the fic is loosely based on (Celiene Dion's 'It's All Coming Back To Me Now), the setting or the story, This all just a bit of fun, hope you enjoy.

Adult Language, hints and implications of a sexual nature.

This was written before I saw 'The Empty Hearse' so sorry about any inaccuracies. I am also sorry for any spelling/grammar errors. I did my best but I am only human. Please enjoy and feel free to leave any comments, it would be lovely to hear from you.

_Sherlock_

John

John has managed to save them both, now let's hope Sherlock makes it.

_Time felt like it had slowed down; Sherlock was staring at John in complete shock as he pulled the trigger for a second time, placing a bullet in Mary's right leg. It was a rare occasion, someone had managed to surprise him, okay he had been emotionally compromised but he was still impressed. Not removing his eyes from John, he watched him place the gun in the back of his trousers, while walking towards Mary. Using the rope that had originally tied him up John began to tie Mary to one of the pillars in the room. "Sherlock does Lestrade know where we are?" The detective shook his head; it was all he could manage as he was still in shock. "Wow, he can really make you stupid Sherlock, you still haven't figured out what just happened." He was about to explain that he knew exactly what had happened, he was just surprised that it did, but before he got a chance John slapped Mary, "at least he didn't just fall for this oldest trick in the book" and then watching his friend bend down to Mary's eyelevel, "and if you ever hurt him again. I will not be aiming at your legs." Then turning his back on her, John walked straight towards him. John placed his hand on the side of his face, sending shivers down his spine, he wanted nothing more than to lean into Johns touch but he was still scared of rejection. He wondered if this was a cruel trick, or maybe the loss of blood was making him hallucinate. Therefore, he stayed paralysing still, keeping his eyes fixed on John. He watched John text Lestrade their location in complete silence he did not know what to say. "Are you ok to walk? I wouldn't really want to move you but we have to leave Mary's phone, so they can use it as evidence, and I don't want you to be subjected to any more torture tonight." Sherlock shuddered at the fault, but other than that, he still did not have the strength to move. John placed his arm around Sherlock's waist, his hand resting on the small of his back, he could feel John trying to lift him to the feet, but was forced to give up in a few seconds due to Sherlock's refusal to budge. Sighing John leant in, he kissed him softly on the cheek before pressing his mouth on his ear, and then with a whisper uttered the words that gave Sherlock the strength to stand, "Sherlock, I am not going to hurt you, I promise. I love you. Please just let me take care of you." Leaning on John, Sherlock pulled himself to his feet, and they left the warehouse, just before the police sirens could be heard approaching from the distance. _

Adrenaline was still rushing through John's veins, as he helped Sherlock walk out into the street while trying to hail down a taxi. Helping Sherlock into the back of the cab, while getting odd looks of the taxi driver, his eyebrows were raised as he stared at them through the mirror. He gave the driver the address of his practice, before pulling Sherlock closer to him, so the detective could lean on his shoulder as Sherlock was losing consciousness with every second. John began to feel his own chest tighten with worry, he started to whisper words of encouragement to Sherlock, trying to get him to stay with him. They pulled up outside the practice, and after John quickly threw the fare in the driver's direction, he got Sherlock out of the car and carried him into his office. Sherlock was far too light for John's comfort, but Sherlock's eating habits were not his main problem right now. Lying him down on the bed, he started to search through the cupboards to find what he needed to patch Sherlock up. He probably should have taken Sherlock up into Barts, no wonder the taxi driver gave him such a weird look, however he did not want anyone else taking care of Sherlock, and he had tended to wounds that were a lot more serious with a lot less at his disposal.

Luckily it didn't take John long to care to Sherlock's wounds. It was the loss of blood that was making Sherlock drowsy, the injuries were actually not that bad. He was cleaning the blood off a naked Sherlock when he came round. It was not the best situation to have to explain but he had to clean Sherlock somehow, and after everything that had happened tonight John just made a judgement call. Any way he had to inspect all of Sherlock's injuries somehow. "John" he took the detectives hand into his own, "it's alright Sherlock. I'm still here, and unlike you I'm not planning on leaving." Noticing his joke was not received too well, he decided to back track, "sorry, too soon to joke. It's just I'm not really sure what I'm doing. I mean half an hour ago I did not remember you." The doctor ran his free hand through his hair, the weight of their situation dawning on him finally. Sherlock sat up and kissed their connected hands lightly, tears falling down his cheeks again. John was beginning to wonder when Sherlock became so emotional. "I'm sorry John, please forgive me." John began to feel tears fall down his own cheeks, how could this man feel so bad after all the pain he had put him through over the past few days. "I'll forgive you Sherlock, if you forgive me, everything I did to you. How could I make myself forget you? I am such a coward; I couldn't deal with facing my own pain so I repressed it all." He was now looking down at their hands, feeling ashamed of himself, he felt Sherlock rest his forehead on his. "You are not a coward, John Watson you will never be a coward. I don't know if I will be able to forgive myself for what I did to you, but maybe if you forgave me then ..." It was at that moment when John did not want to listen to this anymore. He wanted to prove to Sherlock that he did not care what had happened, he was back now and that is all that matters, and so he kissed Sherlock with everything he had, and thus forcing Sherlock onto his back. They were wrapped in each other's arms when they both started giggling. Partly through relief, and partly because if someone had mentioned this to either of them a few minutes ago they would have told them they were being stupid. "Shall we go home" Sherlock nodded, "as long as we can do this properly sometime in the future." Helping Sherlock onto his feet, John replied with "I'm going to hold you to that."


	8. Chapter 8 - The morning after

(BBC) Sherlock – Disclaimer, I do not own the rights to the characters, the song the fic is loosely based on (Celiene Dion's 'It's All Coming Back To Me Now), the setting or the story, This all just a bit of fun, hope you enjoy.

Adult language, m/m consensual sex, SMUT

This was written before I saw 'The Empty Hearse' so sorry about any inaccuracies. I am also sorry for any spelling/grammar errors. I did my best but I am only human. Please enjoy and feel free to leave any comments, it would be lovely to hear from you.

_Sherlock_

John

The morning after the night before, we all know where this is going, a smutty treat for you all.

John was woken by beams of sunlight creeping through the curtains, Sherlock's curls were resting on his chest and his arm had gone numb from being underneath Sherlock's torso all night. John however had not felt so rested in a long time, holding Sherlock as he slept allowed him to have a dreamless sleep. He peered down on the beautiful sight that was Sherlock Holmes sleeping, such a rare sight that John was scared to move, he did not want to wake him. His cuts and bruises were already looking so much better compared to last night. He was enjoying the sensation of having the sleeping detectives breathe caressing his chest. He started to run his fingers over the detectives back in a circular formation, causing Sherlock's torso to stiffen. Sherlock pulled away from Johns grip instantly, his eyes filled with so much shock that John could not help but feel guilty. This guilt was quickly transformed to embarrassment, caused by the younger man's eyes slowly examining his bare chest. After what felt like hours to John, Sherlock slowly placed his hand on John's stomach. "You're actually here. I thought last night..." Without waiting for Sherlock to finish, John pulled the younger man into an embrace, running his hands through the man's locks he whispered "where else would I be."

_Sherlock listened to the sound of Johns heartbeat, while he thought carefully about his next move. John had not left yet, he was still here. It was not the adrenaline and shock, John was now holding him, in his bed. "What's wrong love? I can almost hear your brain working on overdrive." Love was defiantly an affectionate term, but then again that did not mean he was in love. Sherlock sighed, he was defiantly over thinking all of this, but the only way he was going to be sure was if he swallowed his pride and just asked. "I'm confused." John pulled out of the hug based on Sherlock's comment, he did however take Sherlock's hand and intertwine their fingers before looking his flat mate straight in the face. "What about?" Sherlock didn't know how to respond, so he lifted both of their hands in the air, causing John to smile, "well Sherlock this is what it looks like when two people hold hands. We did this last night, remember." Sherlock scowled at him, he did not appreciate Johns light mockery, "you know perfectly well what I meant." John smiled warmly at him, "I'm sorry, I just find it adorable that you know so little about this." Sherlock was beginning to feel slightly irritated, "don't patronise me John" and with that he rolled over, removing his hand from Johns grip. It didn't take long before he could feel John's breath on his neck, giving him a slight warning before John kissed him softly on the cheek. Sherlock didn't turn, but he did feel himself relax. "What do you want to know?" Sherlock felt the doctors arm drop over his chest, John was pulling them closer together, causing Sherlock to give in to temptation and face him. The action meant their noses were now pressed against each other, and Sherlock was so close to John that he could observe every perfect imperfection on the doctors face. "What did you mean when you said where else would I be?" John got distracted by one of the detective's curls for a while before taking his hand again and answering Sherlock's question. "Mr Holmes. I am madly in love with you and I am never letting you leave my side again." Sherlock still had several memories of John claiming he was not gay, and therefore still did not know where he stood, "but as you told me so many times, you're not gay." "I would still not classify myself as gay. I don't know what I would label myself at the moment. All I know is that I love you and I am attracted to you, and I have been for a very long time. You'll just have to trust me on that I'm afraid." Before kissing John again, Sherlock spoke up, the relief obvious in his voice, "I trust you."_

John forced himself to hold back, as John kissed him, he wanted nothing more than to force his tongue into the detective's mouth, but judging by the previous conversation Sherlock was extremely inexperienced when it came to this. Sherlock, however, appeared to have other ideas, he ran his tongue along his partners lips, requesting entry, that John granted without a moment's hesitation. The sensation of Sherlock's tongue intertwined with his own sent blood rushing down to his cock, causing John to pull away. He was determined he was not going to rush Sherlock. Gasping for air John did not know he needed until they parted; he dodged Sherlock's attempt to lock lips once more. Sherlock looked confused at first, and John was worried that he thought he had done something wrong. It was not until Sherlock's eyes drifted to the bulge forming under John's pyjama bottoms that a smirk appeared on the detectives face. Sherlock lowered himself into a position that allowed him to lick the fabric that covered Johns prick, causing John let out a moan before he could stop himself. Using every ounce of will power he had, he stopped himself from rutting his hips up towards Sherlock's mouth; he did have to curl his hands into fists to trap his frustration. "Sherlock ... I. You don't have to do anything you're not ready to do." Sherlock did not respond verbally, instead he straddled Johns hips, and started to playfully kiss, lick and bite John's neck. John moaned with every nip Sherlock made, rutting his hips into the air, desperately trying to get some friction for his aching prick.

_Sherlock could feel his heart pumping faster than he would in any chase. For the first time in his life he was filled with nothing but animalistic desires, and it was all directed at John. The idea of sex no longer repulsed him; in fact, it had suddenly become a very appealing idea. Lowering himself down Johns chest, with more soft kisses, he paused when reached Johns nipples. Intrigued to see what the result would be, he slowly ran his tongue around John's erect left nipple. "Sherlock..!" The way John called Sherlock's name went straight to his dick, and desperate to reproduce similar results Sherlock began to suck. "SHERLOCK!" John started to pant, "Sherlock if you carry on like that this will be over quicker than I would like." The comment caused the younger man to smile to himself, he really was a fast learner._

For someone who apparently had no experience at the act, what he managed to do to John was amazing. John was determined however that Sherlock was going to orgasm before him. He wanted, to what he believed to be his lovers first time to be amazing and John wanted to witness every moment of it. With that thought in mind, John flipped the two of them around, so Sherlock was now lying on the mattress; his legs still wrapped around Johns hips. John's act of strength had an astounding effect on his lover, and John felt the detectives boxers get damp underneath him. Deciding that he no longer wanted there to be any part of Sherlock hidden from him, he started to ease the boxers down Sherlock's legs, using his teeth, and realising what he was doing, Sherlock repositioned himself so his lover could remove them completely. John threw them over his shoulder as he glanced down at the detective's aching prick, causing Sherlock to squirm beneath him. Leaning down John ran his tongue over the tip, tasting Sherlock in a way that no one else had. Sherlock squirmed once more, crying out John's name. "Please John, please." Placing a kiss on the side of Sherlock's thigh just before slowly engulfing the younger man's cock with his mouth. He ran his tongue slowly along the shaft, teasing Sherlock and transforming him into a squirming mess beneath him. Beginning to worry that he did not know what he was doing, he tried to focus his mind for long enough to think back to what he enjoyed in these situations. Providing as much friction as possible with his mouth, he used his tongue and teeth to tease the shaft. It had the desired effect. "John ... John I'm so close" Sherlock's comment made John pull away, he did not want this to be over just yet, he had so many things he wanted to do to the detective.

_Sherlock had never been so out of control in his whole life, his brain was now incapable of coherent thought. He had been taken over by lust, an emotion that only a few hours ago he would have believed to be beneath him. The world around him cessed to exist, he was only aware of John, his smell, his touch, his voice, his words "I love you Sherlock. I love you so much. Please let me fuck you." Sherlock couldn't think of anything he wanted more, gasping out a "yes" as John wrapped his fingers round his prick. The detective pulled his partner down into an embrace, biting down on John's lips, drawing blood. Pulling away for a moment, Sherlock spoke, "top drawer" before his lips became preoccupied with John's neck, biting down until he left a mark, and then repeating the process elsewhere. Sherlock felt like he was in control once more, but that changed the moment John started to tease Sherlock's ass hole with his wet index finger. John started to tease it in gently, but Sherlock was having none of it. He pushed down on it, forcing the whole finger, to the knuckle, in. John hesitated worried that he damaged the man, however Sherlock squirming made John feel ok to move his finger in and out, loosening Sherlock up, while hitting his prostrate, making Sherlock conclude he was not going to last much longer. "John please!" _

John started to speed up his preparation of Sherlock. The detectives face was making it difficult for the doctor to control himself; he cock was now leaking a considerable amount of precum and Sherlock tipping his head back giving John a better view of his beautiful neck, now covered in a fine layer of sweat, was not helping. While scissoring his fingers inside Sherlock, he leaned down and started to suck at his throat, "fuck me John ... I need you to fuck me now!" He was about to thrust into Sherlock when it occurred to him that he was not wearing any protection. He leaned back over to the draw where he found the lube suspecting he would find them there. However, doing so meant he began to neglect Sherlock, something the detective was not happy about. "What are you doing?" The younger man was trying to pull John closer to him again, but John was not going to budge just yet, "condoms?" Sherlock got the bottle of lube and started to rub the liquid over the doctors prick, "I'm not bothered if you're not" that combined with the wicked glint in Sherlock's eye convinced him to close the gap between them. Kissing his lover forcefully, he removed Sherlock's hand from his prick and started to slowly lower himself into him. When he was the whole way in he hesitated, waiting to see if Sherlock was ok. Through gritted teeth, Sherlock spat out, "keep moving" and taking that as a sign that Sherlock was ok John started thrusting, slowly at first, but then picking up the pace until his movements became erratic. The detective's legs were slowly rising up Johns back as he tried to angle his hips higher and higher. John paused for a moment to place Sherlock's leg over his good shoulder, before resuming his thrusting motion. "Harder John, so fucking close" John was not sure if it was the added friction or the deep groan that left Sherlock's lips but the doctor did not get his wish. He was pushed over the edge before his lover. He released his load into Sherlock and screaming out the detectives name as he rid out his orgasm. Afterwards he felt bad for being the first to lose control, so he was determined to make this the best orgasm possible. Without removing himself from inside Sherlock he wrapped his fingers around the younger man's prick, stroking and tugging, while whispering words of encouragement into his lover's ear. "Cum for me Sherlock, just let go" and with that Sherlock did, covering Johns chest with years of pent up frustration.

_ Sherlock sighed as John pulled out of him, while placing his head into the crook of his neck; they sat in each other's arms in silence, listening to each other's heartbeats for what felt like an eternity. John was the first to break the silence and Sherlock could tell by his opening sigh that it was something he was hesitant to say. "Sherlock, promise me you are never going to leave again. I don't think my heart could take it..." Sherlock raised his head to kiss John's cheek. "I'm so sorry John. I never meant to hurt you. I love you, I always have." John tried to kiss Sherlock again but Sherlock pulled away and held Johns head away at arm's length, looking straight into his eyes making sure he was looking at him, "and I promise you John I will never leave you." Johns chest moved with his soft chuckle, the tension in his body leaving with each laugh, "when did you become so sentimental?" Leaning back into John's chest before answering as he was slightly ashamed of the honest answer, but he vowed to never lie to John again, "since I thought I lost you."_

_Before Sherlock had a chance to register what was going on John was kissing him with so much passion it forced Sherlock back on to his back. He could feel the tears rolling down onto his own cheeks, between kissed placed all over his face John was muttering "I love you" and "I am yours" causing Sherlock's heart to swell inside his chest. Readjusting themselves so they were both lying down wrapped in each other's arms, Sherlock began to wish that the moment would never end, but as Sherlock knew you don't always get everything you want, Sherlock's phone started to vibrate on the bedside cabinet. John leaned over and picked up the phone, "Hello ... sorry Greg, doctor's orders Sherlock is not working today. ... Well the paper work will have to wait. ... Tell them that if they start then I cannot be held responsible for my actions. ... ok ... yes ... Goodbye Greg." Sherlock felt a sinking feeling collect in the pit of his stomach, "I'm guessing the force has seen Mary's little home video." John nodded, before he stiffened. Realising it was the first time either of them had mentioned Mary, since everything had happened. Sherlock knew they would eventually have to discuss Mary and the whole situation, especially as he could tell John had some questions, but for the moment they were happy with what they had. John leaned over and kiss Sherlock's temple before climbing out of bed. "Let's get you cleaned up, and then you're eating something. Because I recon you haven't had a decent meal in two years." Sherlock, however, had other ideas, and in the hope that John would take pity on him, "I thought my doctors orders were for me to stay in bed." John intertwined their fingers before pulling him onto his feet. "Nice try Sherlock but you are eating something. Then if you want to spend the rest of the day on your back, I am more than willing to let you. Now into that bathroom." John turned to walk into the kitchen, to presumably see what he had to try to make something resembling a meal. "Doctor, don't you think you should be helping your patient. What happens if something bad happened to me in the shower? I could slip" It was a pathetic move but he knew it would work; John was close to giving in, however John predictably was going to try and pretend he would not be manipulated so easily, "you've managed to shower by yourself without any accidents up to this point in your life. I am sure you will manage." Sherlock closed the gap between John and himself, wrapping his arms around the doctor's waist. Moving his mouth around to John's ear, "you help me now, and I'll agree to go out for a meal and eat every last thing - without moaning." His suggestion worked, as he knew it would. It was not like John needed much encouragement in the first place, and as John led him into the bathroom, Sherlock could not stop himself from smiling. _

Thank you for sticking with this story, it is the first fan fiction I have ever written and it was a pleasure to share it with you. I hope you enjoyed it


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